It would be the last sunset the Warlock would ever see.
I led the army mounted on Fang (whose saddle I had scrubbed), as I always had. The first undead beast I’d ever raised, Fang remained my favorite, and was as loyal and faithful as his namesake, the hound who’d been my companion as a boy. Behind me were Rollar and Drok, with Drok now riding one of the giant mutant lizards. Behind them, also on mutant lizards, were Isu, Friya, Elyse, Rami-Xayon, and Yumo. Anna-Lucielle rode behind them on her tame panther, and Layna next to her on an undead war spider, followed by the Order of Blind Monks, riding undead panthers. The undead Frost Giants formed an intimidating front to my army, and in their wake, the various divisions marched in perfect order. Each undead troop was carrying a corpse. When we reached the battlefield, I would finally get to create my Death Titan.
Everyone in my party had seen and experienced the violence and suffering visited on Yeng by the Warlock and his minions, and all were eager to mete out some justice. After what he’d done to their home village, Rami-Xayon and Yumo had a personal score to settle with him too.
As predicted, we reached the Warlock’s plateau by late afternoon. We’d marched at a steady but not relentless pace, and were by no means out of breath or tired. The battle lust racing through our veins at the sight of the Warlock’s massive army was more than enough to restore any energy we’d expended during the march.
We were easily outnumbered three to one, maybe even four to one. Our hurricane was gone, but the sky above was growing black with thick storm clouds of the Warlock’s making. In them flashed violet flickers of lightning and the promise of violent destruction to be unleashed. The field was drenched from the storm Rami-Xayon and I had created. Just as I had planned.
Reports had spoken of over half of the Glorious Emperor’s Imperial Army defecting to the Warlock, but from what I could see on the muddy, sodden plain, it looked more like two thirds of the former Imperial Army. They had an enormous infantry division, arranged in a square in the center, cavalry divisions flanking them on either side. To the rear were divisions of archers, and behind them were a number of siege engines: catapults and trebuchets, loaded with massive boulders to fling into my army. The troops all wore the distinctive Yengish style of armor I’d grown accustomed to seeing here, but instead of the yellow and red of the Imperial Army, they’d all painted their armor purple and white, the colors of the Warlock and his storms.
He stood before the entire army, leading from the front. He wore no armor and carried no weapon but his staff. While my army marched onto the battlefield and got into formation, he watched us in silence, smiling eerily all the while.
Eventually, as the sun touched the peaks of the mountains in its westward descent, my army was in position. The dip in the plain, which had filled up with murky, muddy water, and had become a pond, stood to my right. I glanced at it and smiled, knowing what Rami-Xayon and I had accomplished, and what I would put into play when the time was right. For now though, the secret of the murky pool would remain concealed.
I strode out in front of my army to meet the Warlock in the middle of the field. He hobbled out to talk to me, looking in physical terms as frail and weak as ever, but radiating an aura of immense power that set my teeth on edge.
“You are outclassed and outnumbered, God of Nothing,” the Warlock said to me when we got within about ten feet of each other. “And this is a battle you cannot possibly win. I have an offer for you, though.” He pulled a long, curved dagger from a sheath on his hip and pointed it at me. “Kneel before me now and let me take your head in front of our respective armies, and I’ll let your women walk away from this with their lives. Your men will be killed swiftly and mercifully, and your undead minions put out of their misery. Considering the position you’re in, I suggest you take me up on this, if you really do care for your whores.”
“I have a counteroffer, Warlock,” I said. “How about you get on your knees right now, suck my balls, and then shove your ugly face in the nearest puddle and drown yourself? Do that, and I’ll let your army walk away from this field as living men instead of my undead slaves.”
The Warlock laughed slowly and humorlessly, then shook his head.
“I gave you your chance,” he said. “Remember that when you die screaming.”
He turned around and limped back to his army, and I walked calmly back to mine.
“What did he say, Lord Vance?” Rollar asked.
“Nothing of consequence, Rollar. Remember what I told you and what to do when I give the signal?”
“Aye, Lord Vance, I do. You can count on me.”
“Vance Chauzec, God of Nothing!” the Warlock suddenly roared from across the field, his voice like the bellowing of a thousand bulls, the vociferous volume completely disproportionate to his puny physique. “You have chosen death and suffering for yourself and your foolish followers! Now, I will deliver these to you!”
The Warlock raised his hands to the sky, and the black ocean of storm clouds above began to swirl as if he was creating his own hurricane. A black tornado, filled with flickers of lightning, descended slowly from the clouds, and the spinning tip touched the Warlock’s outstretched fingers. Instead of sucking him into its whirling vortex, the tornado kept moving down, covering his entire body, while the top of the cone sucked more storm clouds and lightning out of the sky.
Then he
